


10-13: Descent into Madness

by XmagicalX (Xparrot)



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Episode: s05e02 Redux II, Gen, Humor, Juvenilia, Meta, Parody
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1997-11-26
Updated: 1997-11-26
Packaged: 2017-10-09 05:56:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/83763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xparrot/pseuds/XmagicalX
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Spoilers for "Redux II".</i> Chris Carter has deeper plans for the episode than anyone has guessed...</p>
            </blockquote>





	10-13: Descent into Madness

**Author's Note:**

> _This (arguably) is the first (and maybe only?) RPF I wrote, way back when I was entirely ignorant of the genre's existence. Posted with original notes._
> 
> _Gossamer was the major X-files fanfic archive, back in the day._
> 
> * * *
> 
> I've read three stories by separate authors bearing the prefix  
>  10-13--I have no clue whose original creation they were, but  
>  they've all been funny, warped visions of the creator, writers,  
>  and watchers of this show we love. I thought I'd try a quick  
>  hand at it, not intending to infringe on anybody's work.
> 
> DISCLAIMER: The X-files belong to Chris Carter and 10-13  
>  Productions, and as far as I know Chris Carter belongs solely to  
>  himself. The same goes for most of the other characters in here  
>  (that is, they either belong to CC or to themselves. I leave it  
>  to the reader to figure out which it is). I mean no offense, so  
>  don't take what isn't offered! =)

Chris Carter leaned back in his chair and counted the screams.

The quick yelp, that would be Vince Gilligan. The "huh?" was  
most likely John Shiban, and the strangled choke--Howard Gordon,  
if he didn't miss his guess.

And then the prolonged, stereo cry of two men in agony, echoing  
all the way from the Millennium studio...

Glen Morgan and James Wong had just read the second part of the  
season premiere script.

About ten minutes later sirens started wailing. Carter,  
concentration shattered by the racket, stuck his head outside his  
office. "What happened?"

"William Davis just went into cardiac arrest," a passing flunky  
condescended to explain. "I think he finished reading the script  
for 'Redux II'."

"It was only a heart failure!" Carter heard Bill Davis project  
with Shakespearian power. "I'm feeling fine, we can still shoot  
the show!"

"Thank goodness," Chris sighed to himself; he had been wondering  
what they were going to do if the premiere were delayed any more.   
Loving as they were, the fans were starting to grow impatient.   
Today's delivery alone had brought in four mail bombs.

No sooner had he reseated himself at his desk when Frank Spotnitz  
burst through the door. It was a sign of his immense agitation  
that he even neglected to knock when entering the offices of his  
employer, the Creator himself.

Of course once through the door his enormous blunder occurred to  
him. "Uh, Chris?" he stammered.

Chris Carter arose and crossed the room, closing the door.   
"Yes?" he replied patiently.

Spotnitz's eyes darted to the shut portal and back to Carter's  
face, his expression identical to that of a lion-tamer  
calculating how much time he had to escape before a rabid tiger  
lost it completely. Bravely he marshalled his courage and  
blurted out, "Did you write this script?"

Carter's eyebrows raised a fraction. "Yes."

"I mean it, this script," and he waved around the pink pages of  
Redux II, "you wrote it all by yourself?"

Slowly Carter nodded, meeting the other's gaze calmly.

"Chris," Spotnitz asked, "you didn't go out on a drinking binge  
with Vince, did you? Or try a subliminal relaxation tape or a  
new sleeping pill or something?"

"Of course not. Do you want me to take a blood test?"

He nearly said yes. Carter could see it in Spotnitz's face.

Actually, what Spotnitz was wondering was if they did proceed  
with a hypothetical bloodtest, what color would the blood be?  
Though of course Eddie Van Blundht had been totally human--stop  
it, Frank, he admonished himself. It's a TV show. It's just a  
popular TV show. And Chris Carter is just the creator and  
controller and master of it all. He can do whatever he likes  
with it, the characters belong to him...

"Chris," he continued cautiously, "are you aware that Mulder  
kisses Scully in this scene?" He flipped to the correct page.  
"And this one? And sort of in this one--"

Carter gave the script a cursory glance. "Of course I do, I wrote  
those scenes."

Okay. Spotnitz took a deep breath. So maybe he was just giving  
into fans. Or maybe he had something else in mind. Chris had  
been so patient with all of Vince's little and not-so-little  
hints, and perhaps the positive reaction Vince got to nearly  
every one of his episodes had influenced this--

But there was a larger matter at stake. "Chris," he said yet  
again, "this is some sort of joke, right?"

"Hmm?"

"Right here," and he opened the script. "You're not killing the  
Cancer Man, are you?"

"What do you mean?"

"He's not really *dead* now, is he?"

Carter grabbed the script, ran down the lines until he came to  
the appropriate one. "Look. Read right here--" and he held his  
finger under the words.

Spotnitz obediently read aloud, "'CIGARETTE SMOKING MAN breathes  
one final breath, reaches for PHOTOGRAPH, and expires.'"

"'Expires' means dead," Carter interpreted.

"But, but," Spotnitz gasped. "He's a key figure, he's been in  
the show since the beginning--"

"So was Blevins."

"But nobody liked Blevins! Nobody even remembered him until you  
brought him back for Gesthemane! Cancer Man's been integral to  
the show for--for--"

"Deep Throat was integral as well."

"And think of how his death upset everybody! CSM's been around  
for so much longer, they're going to be furious--"

"The fans have learned to trust no one."

Yes, and they also have learned about a hundred different ways to  
murder people, Spotnitz fretted. "They already believe in that,  
you don't have to convince them of it!"

"But somebody has to die," Carter answered reasonably. "It's a  
premiere. The fans are expecting a death."

But none of the other disposed-of characters had been so  
important, Frank moaned to himself, so highly regarded.  
Desperately he tried his final gambit, "You said yourself that  
you could never kill the devil, and that Cancer Man's the devil-"

"Ah, but he's acting on the side of right in this episode. So  
maybe he's not the incarnation of evil after all," Carter  
countered smugly, looking rather like said incarnation himself.

Spotnitz's mouth opened and closed a few times in silence. At  
last Chris took pity on the man. "I'll tell you, if you promise  
to keep it under wraps."

"Tell me what?"

"First you have to swear not to tell /anyone./ Not even your  
wife, or your cat, or your therapist. If this gets out, it could  
ruin us."

"I promise," Spotnitz swore warily.

"Read this." Carter handed him a pink page. "It's the second-to-  
last page, I'm going to add it into the final run."

Spotnitz scanned the page, gobbling down the typed words. When  
finished he fell into the closest chair with a deep sigh. "We're  
saved," he whispered under his breath.

"See?" Chris patted him on the shoulder. "It'll be fine. You  
have to trust me. But I have writing to do for Millennium, if  
you would..."

Shakily Spotnitz stood. "I'm sorry," he said, "I should have  
known you wouldn't throw our lives away like that." He made his  
way out, pausing at the door. "So what are we going to do with  
this? It looks like he's dead, but if they didn't find the body  
nobody will believe it. What really will have happened?"

Carter shrugged. "Don't worry about it," he said, "we'll think of  
something."

"Of course," Spotnitz agreed, and departed.

Chris Carter once again sat behind his desk and hit the space  
bar, reactivating his computer monitor. 'We'll think of  
something.'

Poor Frank, he always did believe the lie. Five years and he  
still trusted every word Chris said.

Alone, he began to laugh. Of course he could come up with a  
solution to this conundrum, but why bother? When there were so  
many other resources.

With deft fingers he guided the trackball's arrow to the  
appropriate icon, clicked open the web browser. "'We'll' think  
of something," he murmured to himself. "Yes, 'we' will, won't  
we?" Checking once more to make sure the door was locked, he  
typed in the web address he was most familiar with, the page he  
accessed more than any other out there. Even the execs at FOX  
were ignorant to his knowledge of it, unaware of the location of  
this problem's solution, to any other one he might encounter on  
the show.

In a month, Redux II would air, and soon, very soon, he would be  
able to access the answer to CSM's untimely demise.

Right now he simply browsed the files. Life had gotten easier  
when he had snuck onto the alt. newsgroup and joined the mailing  
lists, but here he had found the secret treasure, the answer to  
nearly all of his writer's blocks.

In secret solitude, Chris Carter wound himself deeper still into  
the enthralling web of Gossamer.


End file.
